


Nice Move

by spiffymittens



Series: Jukebox Prompt Fics [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxious David Rose, Board Games, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, David Rose is trying to be a nice person, Early Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Jukebox Prompt, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Only rated T for swearing, Prompt Fic, gratuitous hot cocoa with extra marshmallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/pseuds/spiffymittens
Summary: David finds himself surprisingly sympathetic about Ray's business worries. Patrick notices.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Ray Butani, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Ray Butani & David Rose
Series: Jukebox Prompt Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835854
Comments: 33
Kudos: 123





	Nice Move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [makkiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkiee/gifts).



> A jukebox prompt fic for [Makkiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkiee/profile), who requested the following fic: "Ray is a bit down and David or Patrick makes him feel better giving credit for B13 moment".
> 
> Also many thanks to [vivianblakesunrisebay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/profile) for very effectively motivating me to finish this with threats of cows. 
> 
> I make no apology for the silliness of this fic. I'm in a creative rut and can't seem to find my mojo these days. But sometimes you just have to publish A Thing and keep cranking out more til the straw starts turning into gold at some point. Unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are my own.

Ray didn’t even gloat when David’s top hat landed on Boardwalk, and that’s when David knew something was really wrong. Normally—and, god, that David’s social life should have come to the point where he knew Ray’s normal game night moves—Ray shimmered with barely suppressed glee when someone landed on one of his maxed-out properties. But tonight he just shrugged and sighed.

“Alright, that’s Boardwalk with one hotel, so…$2,000,” he said, waving vaguely at David from across the dining room table.

David wanted to care, he really did, but Patrick was tracing delicate circles on the inside of his knee, and it was just really very difficult to think about anything else at the moment. 

He handed Ray the bills from his dwindling stash, and Ray tossed them carelessly onto his messy stack, the way David himself might once have done with real money.

Patrick’s hand stopped, and his concerned eyes met David’s, though David was ashamed to note that Patrick’s eyes were way more _What’s wrong?_ and his own were more _What the fuck?_

“Ray, are you alright?” Patrick asked.

“I’m quite well,” Ray said stiffly. “It’s your turn.”

Patrick opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it abruptly and rolled the dice. He groaned as his wheelbarrow landed on Pacific Avenue. 

Ray sighed again. “Pacific Avenue with four houses is $1,100.” He pursed his mouth as Patrick handed him the play money and added bitterly: “At least _someone_ is paying me.” 

“Ray...are you sure you’re okay?” Patrick said.

Ray burst into tears. David and Patrick stared at each other, dumbfounded, then Patrick patted Ray’s shoulder tentatively. As if Patrick’s hand had unlocked his voice, Ray began speaking through a thick clot of tears.

“It’s just, I’ve been trying _so hard_ but nobody seems to want their closet reorganized! I don’t know where I went wrong,” he hiccuped. “Oh, I know I’m being silly, but I had such high hopes for this venture. I mean, I _like_ real estate and travel and photography, but closet reorganization is my real passion.” He absently wiped his eyes with an orange $500 bill.

David was surprised to find himself sympathetic after all. He had dropped thousands of dollars at fancy hotels on real boardwalks without a second thought. But that was before he knew how many hours at the Blouse Barn it took to pay off the credit card bill for that one jar of eye cream—with interest. That was before he and Patrick had jumped with no net, holding only a parachute made of grant money and grit. Rose Apothecary had been open for nearly two months and David knew now, in his bones, what it meant to hustle and sweat and agonize over a business.

“What can we do to help, Ray?” Patrick asked, which was in David’s opinion an ominously open-ended question. 

But Ray just shook his head and slumped. “Nothing, really. I’m sorry to trouble you. I’m fine.” Then his face crumpled again and he blew his nose on another $500 bill. David scooted his chair away a few inches.

Patrick looked helpless the way one does when small children cry, and arrived at a similar, tried and true solution. “Well, how about a nice cup of cocoa with extra marshmallows?” he said with determined good cheer. “That’s your favorite, right?”

Ray blinked rapidly and nodded, sniffing. “That would be nice, thank you. You’re such a good friend, Patrick.” His voice quivered and he grabbed at yet another bill. David wondered if the game would still work if they had to burn all of Ray’s money.

“Okay then,” Patrick said, patting Ray’s back and staring with fascinated horror at the snotty bills. “One cup of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows coming right up. And a napkin.”

“Um, Patrick, I just feel like we’re all feeling a little unsettled here right now...” said David as Patrick got up and walked to the kitchen.

“And I will also make you some hot cocoa, David,” Patrick said, grinning and shaking his head as he went into the kitchen. And then he was gone and David was left alone with a sobbing Ray. 

Fuck, what was he supposed to do? If it were Alexis he’d let her borrow one of his sweaters or subtweet some shit-talk about one of her old friends. If it were Stevie, he’d get high with her and watch Killer Klowns from Outer Space. Patrick had already claimed the hot cocoa move. How was he supposed to comfort Ray?

David gingerly patted his shoulder as Patrick had done, desperately trying to think of what to do next. This was why Patrick wouldn’t call him nice. Nice people went to make Ray hot cocoa. Not-nice people sat here staring at the tears soaking Ray’s awful mustache and didn’t do a single useful thing.

Just over Ray’s shoulder, David could see the beat-up desk where Patrick had teased him into a flustered mess with his boyish smile and sharp tongue and weird sports metaphors.

“You know, Patrick told me the first day I met him that not everyone bats a thousand,” David found himself saying. It wasn’t quite what Patrick had said, but close enough. Plus, he was proud of himself for knowing a sports thing now and wanted to show off a little.

Ray sniffled. “What do you mean?” 

David began straightening his money piles, aligning the corners precisely. “Well, you’ve already got all of these great businesses and you’re always trying new things. I mean, one of them was bound to be a dud at some point, right? Like, even Gwyneth Paltrow, who is mega-successful, was a total flop as a country singer.”

“You think my closet organization is a total flop?” Ray said, his lip trembling.

“No!” David said, and Patrick’s clinking bustle in the kitchen paused for a second. “No,” he said more gently. “It’s a _great_ idea. Maybe you just need more time to achieve better market penetration” — another term Patrick had taught him — “and in the meantime, you have all these other businesses that are doing so well!” Ray looked terribly fragile, but had stopped crying.

_Okay, this was good. Fuck, Patrick was still in the kitchen, keep talking._

“I mean, you’re basically a pillar of the community,” David improvised. Ray sat up a little straighter. “And hey, if it weren’t for you, I never would have met Patrick!”

Ray actually smiled at this. “Well, I _do_ fancy myself a bit of a matchmaker,” he said, puffing up a bit. 

David nodded and smiled woodenly. How did people look sincere? Was he doing it right? He smiled a little wider just to make sure. Sweat began to bead up at his hairline.

Ray leaned in, his voice plummy, confidential. “You know, I had thought about setting you up with my nephew Vikram but once I saw the way you and Patrick looked at each other that first day, I knew fate had brought you two lovebirds together.”

“Mm!” David said brightly, because it wasn’t awkward or horrifying _at all_ to talk about fate and, and...other things...when they’d only been dating for a month and Patrick was bound to get tired of him any day now. “Well, you certainly...played a part in that! So, um, good job.”

Ray beamed at him and it was a lot, too much, being on the receiving end of that kind of approving look, even from fucking _Ray_. David looked away, and there was Patrick standing quietly in the doorway of the kitchen with three mugs of steaming cocoa, giving David absolutely no quarter from fond looks.

Caught out, Patrick came all the way into the dining room and set the mugs on the table. “Here you go,” said Patrick, with a final pat to Ray’s shoulder. 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you both for making me feel so much better,” said Ray. “I believe it’s my turn now.” He rolled double sixes and his Scottie dog ended up on David’s sad little Mediterranean Avenue hotel, the cheapest property on the whole board at that point. 

“Nice move!” Patrick said, but he was looking at David. Then, more softly: “That was really nice.”


End file.
